


Constant Reminder

by Starsofgallifrey



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: 4x04 prediction, Angst, Canon-Compliant, Character Study, Edward Nygma - Freeform, Forgiveness, Gotham, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Nygmobblepot, Oswald Cobblepot - Freeform, Sort of happy ending, The Penguin - Freeform, The Riddler - Freeform, Yelling, docks mention, mentions of love, victor fries (briefly)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-15 21:35:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12329328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starsofgallifrey/pseuds/Starsofgallifrey
Summary: Ed finds Oswald after Oswald can't decipher the meaning of his riddles. He wishes to settle things in a diplomatic way, and Oswald doesn't stay compliant.





	Constant Reminder

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be my last fic on this account! I'm moving to a new one soon. I hope you enjoy. I wanted to get this out of the way before 4x04 aired, and it's my best-case scenario on what could happen. Well, my best-case scenario wouldn't probably happen, which is why this is basically one big theory in fic form.

Oswald was expecting it of course. The ticking clock right above his throne, and the passing days since the riddles were delivered, with that almost alien rap-music encounter. And an enigma he had always been, and always easy enough to solve, Ed came rushing through the large shiny black doors of Oswald’s office, his face flushed with rage.

 

            Rage had never been a good look on him. His teeth were bared, but somehow, even after everything that had happened, he was unthreatening.

           

            As much as his knee could allow him, Oswald shot up from his seat with vigor as Ed’s pace began to slow and they locked eyes across the desk. Freeze was by his side, and unfortunately Oswald knew the man would rather be anywhere else than here.

 

            He barely had time to take in Ed’s appearance and posture before the taller man was spitting out, “You didn’t meet me there!”

 

            Oswald half chuckles, sliding his hands into his pockets to convey indifference. “Where?”

 

            “The docks!” Ed snapped, moving forward a couple of inches. Freeze didn’t hesitate to aim his weapon at Ed, the familiar buzz of the gun revving up, and Ed shuffles back a few steps like a cat that had just been sprayed with water. It felt satisfying to see the man afraid.

 

            “Oh, is that what your little musical number was about? I couldn’t tell. I was too busy laughing at how bad your riddle was.” Oswald meant to smirk straight after, but his comment seemed to affect Ed in a way he hadn’t been expecting.

 

            Ed swallowed hard, eyes flickering back and forth between Oswald and Freeze. “I-I have…” he stumbled over his words, “I haven’t had the time to come up with the perfect riddle!” he shouted defensively. “It’s _time_ , I well, I haven’t _had_ enough time.”

 

            “Or is it because you’ve lost your touch?” Perhaps Oswald shouldn’t keep at the disparaging comments, but he was enjoying Ed fumbling around his own responses. When Ed responded with a glare, Oswald continues. “Why are you here Ed? You’re outnumbered, you’re unarmed, I’m going to put you right back where you belong. The centerpiece of my establishment. You’ve only made it easier for me to catch you.”

 

            Ed smiled. Wide. Unexpected, but Oswald is game.

 

            “Why so smug, Ed?” he questions.

 

            “I’d like to make you an offer,” Ed said, leaning close again. There is a small grunt from the back of the room and before Oswald can process Ed’s words, he swerves back to face his ally.

 

            “If you’d rather be elsewhere, wait outside. I’ll call you if I need you.” The remark didn’t come off as harsh as Oswald intended, but he got his point across.

 

            Without a response, Victor took to the front doors of the office, bringing along his glowing freeze ray. Oswald turned back to Ed, feeling jittery in his limbs, and a fuzziness in his head he couldn’t quite describe.

 

            “Try anything, and I’ll have you gutted and then frozen again,” Oswald warns.

 

            “Fair enough.”

 

            “What’s your deal,” Oswald leans on his knuckles over the desk to meet Ed’s eccentric stare. He had been in stasis for five months and something was so completely different, _wrong_ , about Ed. It wasn’t a concern he should be having, no he shouldn’t care.

            “Talk it out,” Ed suggests.

 

            “What?”

 

            “I want to talk. I want to discuss. If this is the only option I have, then I’m going to use it. You do remember how to talk don’t you?” Ed questions with a chiding glisten to his eyes.

 

            Oswald laughs once, taken aback. Then he releases a bellowing laugh, grabbing a bundle of fabric from his chest. “Haven’t we talked enough Ed? What is talking going to-”

 

            “No,” Ed interrupts.

 

            Oswald blinks. “No?”

 

            Ed nods. “No, we’ve never talked. We never bothered to understand, we had bloodlust, revenge on our minds, perhaps it’s time we change the tone a little bit.”

 

            Something _is_ wrong with Ed. Oswald assumes this is a trap, but Ed seems unarmed, he’s holding nothing in his hands, his hair is esque, and his tie...flip sided. He couldn’t be serious.

 

            “No Ed, _you_ never talked. _You’re_ the one who wouldn’t reason, you shot me in cold-blood,” Oswald hisses, knowing full well what Ed is going to say.

 

            “And you’re the one who killed my girlfriend because it was easier than telling me you loved me,” Ed shoots back icily.

 

            Despite himself, Oswald’s breath catches in his throat at the words. There it was, a momentary rush of affection and shattered nostalgia of love that had been forgotten. It sped through his veins like a fast-acting poison would, and slowly heated up his insides, until he returned to familiar feelings coated in rage.

 

            “Isabella. _Isabella!”_ he puts emphasis on the last syllable of her name _. “_ It’s always about Isabella!” Oswald yells, slamming his fists down on his desk. It was hard enough for paperwork to go flying in each direction. “I killed your girlfriend! I killed the woman you knew for a _week_ and ditched our dinner for; _how many times do you want me to say it?”_

            Ed doesn’t respond, unusual for him, but this doesn’t deter Oswald. There was lot more pent up inside his small figure. And if Ed wanted to _talk_ , he was going to get _talk_ in its rawest, most brutal, form.

 

            “Ed look at this situation. We’re fighting over a woman, we’re killing each other, because of some woman, who worked in a library, in Gotham, why the hell won’t you let it go? Why is Isabella so goddamn important to you?” Oswald’s face was beat-red, staring up at Ed. His expression was incredulous, but he could see tears forming in the corners of his eyes. Oswald’s resolve weakened for a mere second, before maintaining his heart-racing, spiteful, stature.

 

            “Oswald, you…” Ed started. “It’s not about _Isabella_. It’s _never_ been about her. Did you think this whole time I tried to hurt you because of her? Because I lost someone I loved?” tears were falling from his eyes now, and Oswald can’t help but lean back a little to give him space.

 

            “It was about you. I cared about you, I-” Ed stops himself before finding his train of thought again. “You hurt me, you were selfish, a spoiled child, you treated me like I was property to you, you took what I claimed to love, and you crushed it to dust.”

 

            Oswald opens his mouth to retaliate, but what Ed says next drowns the words in his throat.

 

            “You never told me you were _sorry_.” Ed’s stare weighed down on him like bricks, stacking higher and higher. Oswald’s eyes were wide; he was unable to hide his expression of shock.

 

            Of course, he apologized. He must have. Oswald frantically played back the memories in his head, and they were vivid, in bright high quality colors and shapes. He remembered it like a lucid dream as he passed over his own words.

 

            _I did it because I love you._

 

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                **Selfish**

 

            _You need me, just as much as I need you_

 

                                                                                                **Spoiled**

 

            _You would have killed her, and afterwards_

_you would have hated yourself._

 

                                                                                                **Greedy**

 

            His lips quiver, trying to find the right words, the right response. He hadn’t apologized. He had manipulated till the very end.

 

            How the hell was he supposed to respond?

 

            “Ed, I’m-”

 

            “No,” Ed snaps instantaneously. “Don’t. It’s too late Oswald. I… I have a riddle for you.”

 

            “Ed, not now,” Oswald groaned, resting his face in his hands as Ed starts twisting his fingers in tandem with the gears slowly moving in his brain. Oswald’s gaze flickers back up when Ed ceases speaking, and finds eyes bulging, rapid blinking patterns, and a vein popping out of his forehead with effort.

 

            “Um…” Ed opens his mouth a fraction wider, as if to start a sentence, but closes it when he realizes he doesn’t have the right words.

 

            It was all starting to click for Oswald. The dumb riddles. Myrtle’s words about Ed’s brain not working. There was a feeling wearing the mask of remorse swimming around in Oswald’s stomach, trying to leech onto his thoughts, but he tries his best to retain face.

 

            Brain damage. How bad was it? Oswald ponders. Was it long lasting or temporary?

 

            Oswald was snapped back to attention at a full-on sob. He looks back up to Ed and his jaw drops a fraction.

 

            Ed’s hands were shaking intensely, seemingly sending tremors through to his other limbs. His face was a dark pink, eyes red and watery, and tears began to dry and reform on his cheeks. He was making noises, little gasps and high pitched whines, Oswald hadn’t even heard tortured men and women make; he watches unable to move as Ed falls to his knees.

 

            Out of pure shock alone, it takes Oswald a few moments to circle around his desk to see Ed shaking and curling up on the floor, crying into the hardwood, lips pink and wet as he lets go of unsteady gasps and wails.

 

            _How the hell did they get here?_

 

Oswald’s has an overwhelming urge to lean down and scoop him up into his arms until he stops crying. He couldn’t do that, could he? Of course, not, they hated each other ten minutes prior, why was now any different?

 

            A familiar thought rang in his head like chimes. Hate and love are two sides to the same coin. Just this once, perhaps Ed _needed_ it just this once.

 

            Oswald found himself on the ground, kneeling beside Ed, his own hand reaching out slowly. He didn’t know he was shaking as well until he touched Ed’s soft hair, stroking down soothingly.

 

            “Ed it’s okay,” he whispered. It was a lie. It was a _big_ lie, but they both knew it was. And Ed took comfort in such a lie. Oswald felt flutters in his heart as Ed leans up into the touch and reaches out for more, grabbing at Oswald.

 

            Oswald pulls him half into his lap and lets him wrap his lanky arms around his middle, crying into the crook of his neck. His breaths came in short, and Oswald kneaded his shoulders and arms soothingly to alleviate the tremors.

 

            It’s the first embrace they’ve had since before Oswald was killed. And his heart beat nonetheless for it.

 

            The memory of the docks seems so distant and muted that he doesn’t feel much of anything when he thinks on it, even now, with Ed sobbing and dry heaving chokes and gasps in his arms, it doesn’t ignite even a flicker of retribution.

 

            It took Ed a while to catch his breath and for the sobs to diminish to a few occasional whimpers, and Oswald could feel him tensing up in his arms, but Ed was too embarrassed to move; the look on his face probably conveyed something he didn’t want Oswald to see.

 

            “You’re going to freeze me again,” Ed’s words were muffled, reverberating against Oswald’s skin through his layers.

 

            Oswald’s breath catches in his throat. Luckily Ed wasn’t giving him much time to dwell on his own dilemma as he continues the accusations.

 

            “You’re going to put me on display as some animal again.”

 

            Oswald pushes him back forcefully, and Ed gasps, blinking rapidly to get rid of the droplets of tears still caught on his eyelashes.

 

            “Or else what, Ed? I don’t freeze you, you kill me. I don’t stop you, you won’t stop. I’m not going to pity you for what you’re continuing to go at, relentlessly.”

 

            Ed’s jaw tightens. “I’m not going to kill you.”

 

            “How am I supposed to believe that?” Oswald snips. “After everything how am I supposed to trust you won’t sneak up behind me and kill me?”

 

            “I won’t.”

 

            “ _Why?_ ”

 

            “Because I want this to be over,” Ed’s fingers pry Oswald’s hands from his arms, and Oswald feels the ghost of flesh beneath his fingertips, and almost mourns the loss of physical contact.  “I never want to see you again.”  


            Oswald stares, and Ed elaborates.

 

            “The only way we can forgive and forget is to leave each other. Having me on display in your lounge isn’t helping you, it’s hurting you. It’s better if I just leave and never return, never bother you. You won’t hear from me, I promise you, I’m done with this game.” Ed laughs humorlessly, “I don’t even have _the ability_ to play the game anymore.”

 

            It wasn’t a game. It was _never_ a game. There were other ways of fixing this issue, Oswald knows it. Was Ed right? Was keeping him in the lounge making matters worse?  He had been so used to Ed in his life up until now, he wasn’t sure he could survive a day without his face somewhere, _somewhere_ , throughout his daily routine.

 

            “Please, Oswald,” Ed pleads. He takes Oswald’s hand in his which catches his old friend’s attention. Ed smiles at him, a smile he hasn’t seen in a long time.

           

            Oswald’s heart felt like it was freezing over, shattering into bits.

 

            “Let _me_ go, I’ll let _you_ go. Call it even. Say it’s forgiven. We’re both to blame. We’re both victims of our own failures.”

           

            Oswald takes a shaky breath and rips his hand away, hobbling to his feet. “If that’s how you want it to be Edward, I suppose I can allow it. But just know if you do decide to come after me, I’ll kill you on the spot, no ice sculpture spectacle this time around.” He pauses. “No second chances.”

 

            “I don’t doubt it,” Ed says wistfully. “Deal.”

 

            “Deal,” Oswald echoes.

 

He opens his mouth to add something, and Ed is standing at attention in front of his desk. Surely it wasn’t the last time he would be seeing him.

 

No, that was the deal.

 

            Damn it, Oswald wants this to go differently. He’d rather they stay fighting if it meant another day of seeing each other, over, and over again. Didn’t Ed just say it was all forgiven?  In that case, why couldn’t they…

 

            Time, Oswald decided. He’d give Ed time, perhaps in a few months he’d go to him, ask if the time to make real amends was soon.

 

            Would Ed retaliate?

 

            “Goodbye Mr. Penguin,” Ed reached out a hand across the desk. Oswald’s eyes shot up. It was too formal. It was too real.

 

            It was happening to fast; they couldn’t end things on a mere handshake.

 

            “Do it right, Ed,” Oswald says softly, with a silent plea. Ed cocked his head.

            “If we’re saying goodbye _do it right_!” Oswald snaps. Ed straightens up and seems to get the picture; he circles around the desk to face his former opponent.

 

            Oswald’s breath hitches when Ed moves forward, slamming into him, and almost knocking him over. He hooks his arms around Oswald’s middle, and like always, Oswald strokes at his shoulders, slowly, up and down his upper back.

 

            When Oswald made the move to break away, Ed held tighter. Oswald said nothing and let him, hooking his chin over his shoulder for purchase.

 

            Oswald prays for the heavens not to hear his heart thrumming like a drum’s reverberations.

 

            It could have been minutes, or merely seconds before Ed finally moves, without another glance. Not even a word, as he approaches the shining doors, a spectacle of Oswald’s favored life of materialism. Ed moves through them swiftly after a small pause, not looking back.

 

            Oswald hadn’t even had time to ask him where he would go, who he had to go to if not him. Ed had no one, or did he?

 

            No, he had no one.

 

            Oswald didn’t realize that there were tears in his eyes, until he blinks, and the burning warmth runs down his cheek.

 

 

            He takes a moment to compose himself. A deep breath.

 

            He presses a button on his phone to reach one of his personal guards. “Milo, yes, I need you to gather a team to run 24-hour surveillance on Edward Nygma. Why? I need you to make sure he doesn’t get himself killed, that’s it. He can’t know about this. Don’t interfere unless it’s necessary.”

 

            Oswald swallows down half of his drink, slamming the glass cup back down on the table. “However long I want!” he barks, “until I call it off.”

 

            Oswald slams the phone back into its place, and sits back in his chair. The temptation of calling Milo right back and calling it off now was looming, but he couldn’t. Even if Ed could forget everything and move on and never see him again, Oswald couldn’t bare it.

 

            He would at least make sure Ed was safe. If anyone in the world was to kill Edward Nygma, it would be him. Even then, he needed Ed in the world, alive.

 

            “As a constant reminder…” Oswald echoes himself, finishing his drink. Doubt creeps into his demeaner. For the first time those words were spoken from him weakly, without meaning. The doubt was already festering into deeper plane of apprehension.

 

            _A constant reminder, never to make that same mistake again._


End file.
